Brothers
by AndIllWriteYouATragedy
Summary: Mycroft and Sherlock are brothers, and brothers look out for each other. A series of short stories throughout their lives. Please understand that there is no incest whatsoever in this story.
1. Bad Example

****I plan on just doing a note at the beginning of each chapter to let you know what'll be going on in that chapter, anything that could be particularly bad or triggering. I don't write sex, because I don't like it, so that's a heads-up, I probably won't be doing any. I'll let you know at the beginning of each chapter at what point in their lives they're at, because I'll move around a lot. They could be in their thirties one day, their teens the next, and their fifties the next. I'll try to update as much as I can. Enjoy!****

****Also, Sherlock is seven years younger than Mycroft.****

**As per usual, none of this is mine yet. And I am my own editor.**

******'So, without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you,' the story!******

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><p>"He looks all odd." Mycroft commented, peering into the cot at the tiny sleeping baby. "What's his name?"<p>

"Sherlock." his mother told him softly, kneeling beside him and watching her eldest son. "It means fair-haired."

Mycroft silently watched his little brother sleep for a moment. "He has fair hair."

"I know, sweetie." his mother kissed her son's temple and looked down at her newborn. "He's got red hair."

"It looks light orange. And fair. And curly." Mycroft reached in and touched his brother's curls of hair. His mother smiled.

"It's very curly, and it'll only get longer, dear, he's only two days old." Violet looked up at the clock. "Oh, dear, I have to go start preparing supper." She looked down at her dark-haired son. "How would you like to watch Sherlock while I make us something to eat, hm?"

Mycroft looked down at Sherlock. "I would like that, yes."

His mother stood up and ruffled Mycroft's hair. "Be careful with him. Don't take him out of his cot unless it's completely necessary."

"Yes, Mummy." Mycroft said obediently. He turned to watch his mother leave, and automatically took Sherlock out of the cot the moment she was out of earshot. "It's necessary that I talk to you, Sherlock, so I'm taking you out. You'll hear better, honestly."

Sherlock stirred and stared at his brother with wide blue eyes. Mycroft held his breath, hoping that he wouldn't cry; Sherlock somehow seemed to know that he shouldn't cry, and didn't. Mycroft smiled at him.

"Thank you, Sherlock." he said quietly, pushing himself into the armchair in the corner of Sherlock's nursery. "Now that you're here, I have a whole new set of responsibilities. I have to take care of you." He paused for Sherlock's imaginary reply. "No, Father doesn't seem all too pleased that you're here. I can take care of you better, though. Father doesn't really pay all that much attention to me in the first place. But we have Mummy. She takes care of me, and both of us will take care of you."

Sherlock continued staring at his older brother. Mycroft smiled. "I'll always take care of you, okay, Sherlock?" He paused, listening to the words he imagined Sherlock saying. "Of course I promise, what kind of brother would I be if I didn't promise?"

Distant footsteps starting approaching the room, and Mycroft quickly hopped out of the chair and tucked his baby brother back into his cot.

"Don't tell Mummy." he whispered into the cot. He thought for a moment. "Or Father. Definitely not Father."

The footsteps grew clearer, so Mycroft sat back down in the armchair and pretend-busied himself with the cuff of his shirt. Violet entered the room with a tray, holding two cups of tea and a plate containing a couple of sandwiches. She shut the door softly and sat on the floor, motioning for Mycroft to sit with her.

"I made you a peanut butter sandwich like you like, and some decaffeinated tea with lemon." She handed Mycroft his plate and cup on the floor, and Mycroft smiled, leaning over to kiss her cheek before sitting down in front of his sandwich.

"Thank you, Mummy." he said before starting to eat. Violet ruffled his hair and crossed her legs "pretzel-style". She peered into Sherlock's cot.

"Your brother's asleep. That's a good thing." Violet smiled. "He must feel safe with you."

Mycroft paused and smiled slightly before continuing to eat his sandwich. Violet continued talking.

"Did you two have a nice chat while I was gone?" his mother asked, and Mycroft nodded.

"Yes, Mummy, we did." Mycroft put his sandwich down. "I like Sherlock."

"He likes you, too, sweetheart." Violet smiled and motioned to his sandwich. "Now, eat. You haven't been eating enough lately, you're going to set a bad example for your brother."


	2. Remember

**I have so many stories going on at once, because I always get stricken to write something else new. But I don't forget my past loves, no way; and this story is definitely something that will keep coming back. **

**In this chapter, we find our beloved Shirley and Mikey just going out for a walk. That's all, just a walk and a talk. Enjoy it. **

****'So, without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you,' the story!****

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><p>"Where's your car today, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, following his older brother out of 221B with some reluctance. It was raining, and his brother didn't seem to have much reason for calling on him then the mere fact that he was bored. Then again, Sherlock was bored, too; this at least gave him something to do. It was rather late, and therefore relatively difficult to see the rain; the moon, however, was particularly bright through the clouds, allowing Sherlock more vision then he would usually have on a rainy night.<p>

"I figured it might be nice to walk. Did you bring your umbrella?" Mycroft popped open his own ever-present umbrella; Sherlock just popped up his collar and dug his head into his coat slightly to try to keep drier. His elder brother sighed and held the umbrella over the both of them. Sherlock grumbled a little but otherwise did not object; he let his brother do this small thing for him. He poked his head back out, flattened his collar, and matched his brother step-for-step as they walked down the quiet London street. Usually the streets were busy; packed with people, cars, animals, and all sorts of irritating noises. Today, however, the rain seemed to have driven everyone into the safety of their own homes. This left the brothers to walk at the pace they pleased.

"Is there something in particular you wanted to discuss with me, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked after a solid thirteen-and-a-half minutes of complete silence, save for the raindrops pattering on the umbrella and the occasional automobile splashing through a puddle.

"No." Mycroft told him, but offered nothing else, just continuing to walk. Sherlock did not object to the silence and continued walking with him. Despite the fact that they did not often get along, they were very much alike; John would call them kindred spirits, with Sherlock would usually react to with distaste but secretly not mind.

"Look at those people, Sherlock. Do you think they fear the rain?" Mycroft asked his younger brother. He did not look at Sherlock, instead watching a group of people running for shelter under an overhang outside a small coffee shop. The question seemed trivial, but Sherlock still felt compelled to answer his brother.

"I do not think they fear it, no. I think they just dislike the feeling of being wet." Sherlock peered at the people as they passed, watching them laughing and crowding into the small space together. A small frown quirked his lips, and he looked away, staring straight forwards again as they walked.

"Maybe it goes deeper. Maybe it's a psychological need to be in control." Mycroft offered, but Sherlock shook his head.

"It may just be the feeling, Mycroft. Feelings are very, very strong, despite what ... trivial things may trigger them." Sherlock stuffed his hands in his pockets and avoided a puddle. "Is there anyplace in particular we're walking towards?"

"No, Sherlock. Stop asking questions and just enjoy the walk." Mycroft instructed his younger brother. Sherlock frowned again, not liking his brother telling him what to do, but deciding it would be to his benefit to do what his brother had said anyways.

"Fine." Sherlock said, and that was the last word either of them spoke for the next twenty-three minutes.

"How's John?" Mycroft asked as they passed a smiling couple, rushing to their home or perhaps their car, hand in hand. Sherlock had scowled at the distinct feeling of _cliché _that the couple exuded, but Mycroft watched them curiously as they went.

"That couple reminds you of John?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft spared his brother a short gaze before turning his attention forward again; Sherlock's eyebrows pulled in, a crease forming between them as he thought.

"That couple reminds me of what you and John might be if you were normal." Mycroft told him honestly. Sherlock looked at his brother with vague dislike; Mycroft just waved his free hand at him. "Neither of us are _normal_, Sherlock. I'm not _picking _on you, we're no longer children."

"You were kinder to me when we _were _children." Sherlock grumbled. He looked over at the couple, who were now drenched and kissing in the rain like they didn't even know it was there. Sherlock made a face and turned back around just in time to avoid tripping over an abandoned shoe in the road. Mycroft looked at him again, and Sherlock sighed dramatically. "John is fine, thank you."

"Keep an eye on him, you always do seem to lose things that you care about." Mycroft shifted and looked genuinely uncomfortable for a minute. "And Mrs. Hudson? How is she?"

Sherlock laughed once, surprising them both. "She's still a bit put-out with you. Understandably, I'd say."

"Hmphh." Mycroft grunted in response, but he smiled slightly from his brother's laughter. "So-"

"What makes you think that John wouldn't want to be with me?" Sherlock asked, cutting Mycroft off. He clearly had still been thinking about what Mycroft had said earlier, and it was bothering him. "Why do you think he wouldn't want..."

"He wouldn't want what?" Mycroft asked, waiting, but Sherlock just trailed off into complete silence. Mycroft didn't speak, giving his younger brother time; the two of them continued walking in the quiet. Sherlock knew that, while Mycroft didn't _feel_ like he did, he would still understand.

"Why wouldn't he want me? I know I have a few less than desirable traits, but I can't be ... completely undesirable. Can I?" Sherlock sounded _doubtful_, for heaven's sake. His brother looked at him warily.

"You should ask John that, no?" Mycroft turned his attention forwards again. Silence fell again, with Sherlock watching the sidewalk now. Mycroft sighed. "No, Sherlock."

"No what?" Sherlock kept his eyes downward. "No, I can't be completely undesirable?"

"Clearly not, since John is in love with you." Mycroft told him. Sherlock's head snapped up, but just stared forwards, not giving his brother any obvious attention. "Well, you must see it, Sherlock. Although, probably not, since you've been letting your emotions cloud your vision when it comes to him. Now, don't deny it," Mycroft said when his brother began to object. Sherlock closed his mouth again, frowning. "because you know that it's true. When it comes to John Watson, Sherlock, you don't realize what's right in front of you. He's in love with you."

"Well, I. I, uh." Sherlock seemed to be at a loss for words, for once in his life.

"You know, you don't even talk like you used to anymore. John Watson's changed you, brother." Mycroft commented, as if he were commenting on the state of the government's affairs or saying the London sky is grey. Sherlock grunted in response, much like his brother had done not long ago. "If I see through _him_, don't you think I can see through _you_, too?"

"What do you mean? What are you saying?" Sherlock asked quickly, looking up at Mycroft. His older brother shrugged.

"Nothing. It looks like we're back at Baker Street." Mycroft looked up at the building, and back at his brother. Sherlock scowled.

"What was the point of that, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, turning up his collar once again. Mycroft stared up at the underside of his umbrella for a few moments before answering.

"I just wanted to talk to my brother." Mycroft leveled his gaze with his brother's. "When you were born, you had red hair."

Sherlock looked properly confused for a split second. "What?"

"When you were born, you had red hair. Mummy thought that was the permanent colour. That's why your name is Sherlock. It means fair-haired." Mycroft told him. Sherlock's eyebrows came together.

"I know what my name means. Why are you telling me this?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft was quiet for a few moments again; the brothers had habits of pausing before speaking, thinking things through before saying them, and were adjusted to it with each other. Sherlock waited for his answer.

"Because I remember it." Mycroft opened the door to his brother's building. "I'll see you later."

Sherlock looked his brother over, then looked into the doorway. There were footsteps clattering down the seventeen steps inside and John poked his head out, squinting through the rain.

"Are you coming in, Sherlock?" John asked, turning his head as his hair got plastered to his scalp. "Hello, Mycroft."

"Hello, John." Mycroft looked away as a car pulled up in the street outside the building. "Goodbye, Sherlock."

"Goodbye, Mycroft." Sherlock replied, and John watched his flatmate's brother leave.

"Bye, Mycroft." John called after him. Mycroft waved, his back still turned, and got into the backseat of his dry car. He turned to look out the window as John tugged Sherlock inside, fussing over his damp coat. Sherlock was looking down at the small army doctor, smiling slightly as he watched John fuss. He pulled John into a hug; John, looking absolutely stunned, patted Sherlock's back in return. Mycroft smiled and told his driver to leave.


	3. Safe Place

****Young Sherlock comes home with a problem that only his older brother Mycroft can fix.****

****'So, without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you,' the story!****

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><p>"Mycroft?" Sherlock's high voice rang throughout their family's mansion. Despite the largeness of the home, it always felt so empty to the brothers, as they were often the only ones in it, save for their mother. Their father was usually found at his place of work, which Sherlock hated to visit; it was far too stuffy for his liking.<p>

When no answer came, he called his brother's name again. "Mycroft, are you home?"

"Yes, Sherlock, hold on." Mycroft's voice was deeper than his brother's, as Sherlock was only eight and Mycroft was fifteen years old. The older brother's footsteps came quickly down the stairs and he found the figure of his brother inside the door, covering his face with his upturned coat collar.

"Is Mummy home?" Sherlock asked quietly. Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows but shook his head. He knew better than to question why Sherlock was asking; he knew from experience that Sherlock was smart enough to know what their mother should and should not know. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of them that some things just had to stay between brothers.

"No, she went out to visit the neighbors. What's wrong?" Mycroft approached his brother and tugged the collar free from his brother's small hand, turning it back down. "Oh, Sherlock."

He grabbed his younger brother's chin, examining his face. His nose was pushed off to the side, dry blood stuck to his skin above his lip; both of his eyes were black, his lips were split in several places, and he had cuts littered on his face. Sherlock allowed his face to be examined, remaining silent as he was assessed.

"I think I can reset this again, Sherlock. We'll clean you up, okay?" Mycroft assured him, and Sherlock nodded, shrugging his coat off and hanging it on the coat rack beside them. Mycroft took his brother's knapsack from him, slinging it over one shoulder and leading his brother down the hall to the first floor bathroom. "What happened today?"

"Martin was boasting about how he is superior simply because he's more athletic." Sherlock grumbled. "I just pointed out that I was intellectually superior, and how that was often more important. I don't think Martin understood."

"Sherlock." Mycroft sighed, tossing the knapsack into a hall closet as they passed. "I've told you before, you _have _to be more subtle when you talk to others. You always sound like you're insulting them."

"I'm just _informing _them." Sherlock protested indignantly, but his brother gave him a look. Sherlock shrank slightly. "Perhaps I'm doing both."

"Perhaps." Mycroft shut the bathroom door behind them and sat his brother down on the closed lid of the toilet. He dampened a worn grey cloth and began working at washing the dried blood off of the younger Holmes' face. "Is this all Martin's doing?"

"Martin, Harold, and Jack. They met me after school when I began walking home." Sherlock muttered ashamedly. Mycroft sighed.

"Maybe you ought to learn some self-defense." Mycroft suggested off-handed as he washed. Sherlock scowled.

"I have self-defense, I have my _mind_, Mycroft. It is the greatest defense one can have. It is those boys who need it." Sherlock grumbled. He swung his legs absently as Mycroft finished the cleaning. He handed Sherlock a thick, faded towel.

"Go on, blow the blood out. You know what to do." Mycroft instructed. Sherlock nodded and blew into the towel, wincing at the blood that came out. He folded the towel carefully in on itself and placed it in the sink beside them.

"Sherlock, go to your safe place in your mind. Remember that? The memory place?" Mycroft told him. Sherlock nodded.

"Mind _palace_, Mycroft." Sherlock reminded him. Mycroft's lips twitched.

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry for forgetting." Mycroft apologized. Sherlock smiled at his brother for a moment before taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes. Mycroft made a triangle with his hands on Sherlock's nose and carefully dragged it back into place. Sherlock gained control of his breathing, stopping it from becoming too erratic. Mycroft soaked a cloth in freezing water and handed it to Sherlock. "Hold that on your nose until I finish here."

"Yes, Mycroft." Sherlock obeyed, holding the cold cloth to his throbbing nose and struggling not to vomit all over his older brother. "Can we cover the eyes?"

"Your right eye may not need covering, it's light enough to pass as simply being tired." Mycroft informed him, examining the younger's face. He pushed the dark mop of curls away from Sherlock's face to examine the broken skin more closely. "The left eye I think I'll need to cover with makeup, it's too dark. And I believe two of these cuts need a couple of stitches."

"Can you do those, Mycroft, please?" Sherlock begged, his bright blue-grey eyes looking up at his brother hopefully. "You do a fine job and I don't want the doctor to have to do it."

"You just don't want Mummy to see." Mycroft accused, but he began fishing through the drawer for his hidden bag of sewing needles, thin strings of cotton, hydrogen peroxide, bandages, and cleaning tools that he had for just such a situation.

"You're right, but still. You're good at it and I don't want her to be worried. She's far too weak to have to deal with my problems." Sherlock refreshed his old argument, and Mycroft nodded as he set to work. Sherlock continued breathing evenly.

"Thank you, Mycroft." Sherlock spoke up after a while, his voice soft. Mycroft finished his stitching with a tight knot and looked over Sherlock's face and his handiwork.

"You're welcome, Sherlock." Mycroft began cleaning up his supplies in the sink and handed Sherlock a fresh towel. "Fill this with ice and hold it against your nose until Mummy gets home. And try not to get in any more fights, okay?"

"I can try." Sherlock took the offered towel and smiled slightly. Mycroft sighed, but smiled back.

"You won't succeed, will you?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock shook his head.

"I don't believe so, brother." Sherlock answered honestly. Mycroft ruffled his brother's hair and pushed him out the door.

"Go get ice, you little imp." Mycroft laughed as he continued cleaning up the sink.


	4. Sunrise

**Just something short that I wrote this morning. Hope it brightens your day!**

**As per usual, none of this is mine yet. And I am my own editor.**

******'So, without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you,' the story!******

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><p>Sherlock was always the one who was awake first, and yet still he was the one asleep last. Mycroft often ended up leaving Sherlock's room before his three-year-old brother fell asleep, but it was inevitable that he would be awoken the next morning by a small body with messy hair - that was starting to finish up it's turn from fair to dark - hurling itself into his bed.<p>

"Mykey." Sherlock shook his older brother's shoulders. "Mykey, wake up, you'll miss it!"

"What will I miss?" Mycroft asked tiredly, lifting his head and using his elbows to push himself into a sitting position. At ten years old, Mycroft knew there wasn't much morning stuff he hadn't already been privy to, and was surprised at Sherlock's answer.

"The sun." Sherlock pointed at the window behind him with the shades still drawn. "You'll miss the sun!"

"Sherlock, the sun is in the sky every day. You just don't see it because it's always cloudy." Mycroft told him patiently. Sherlock looked frustrated with him.

"No, Mykey! It's different!" Sherlock grabbed his brother's hand and tugged, a poor attempt at dragging his brother to the window bodily. Mycroft allowed himself to be led to the window, opening the drapes for his small brother.

Sherlock had been right. The sunrise was spectacular this morning. There wasn't a cloud in sight - unusual for England - and the sun was just barely peeking out over the horizon. The top sliver of the sun was visible and, up high, the faded moon could still be seen amidst the strong streaks of scarlet, sapphire, lavender, and lingering ebony. Stars twinkled distantly, and Sherlock sighed at the sight.

"Isn't it lovely?" Sherlock asked softly. Mycroft put an arm around his younger brother's shoulders and watched the sunrise as he did.

"Perfectly lovely, Sherlock. Thank you for waking me up." Mycroft bent down and pressed a kiss to the wild curls on top of Sherlock's head. Sherlock squirmed slightly but allowed it.

The morning continued as any other would - their mother coming to rouse them from feigned sleep, their father attempting to beat them into normalcy - but, for just this moment, everything was different. In this one moment, the only two people who existed were the two brothers, and they lived in the sunrise.


End file.
